Maybe Miracles and Mashed Potatoes
by roxmysox55
Summary: Sequel to the Cinderella Retelling Once Upon a Frozen Lasagna. Cyndi and Robi both face troubling circumstances at Christmastime. They will need a miracle... and some mashed potatoes... to get them through the holiday season.
1. Chapter 1: Christmas in Suburbia

_A/N: As my lovely editor (you know who) said, "You asked for it... here it is." I hope you enjoy it. It isn't nearly as good as the prequel, but I like it anyway._

_**Disclaimer**: I can take most of the credit for this story, but without the Grimm Brothers there would be no "Once Upon a Frozen Lasgana." I didn't write the original Cinderella._

Chapter One: Christmas in Suburbia

_C__YNDI_

My fear of flying had not been subdued in the more than three years since Dad and Hedwig's plane had gone down in Georgia. It had taken loads of encouragement from Gail, Robi, Beth, and Jimmy to get me on a plane the first time, when I left for culinary school in Paris back in August. When December came around, Gail sent me plane tickets as an early Christmas present and said I had to come right away to spend Christmas and News Years with her. As much as everyone rattled on and on about Paris at Christmas, it was Christmastime in suburbia that got me on the plane after just a few coaxing phone calls from the people back home. Thinking about Applewood, New York sprinkled with snow and twinkling lights and my adoptive mother's sweet potato pie made the ferocious-looking Atlantic Ocean seem a little less antagonizing. Sure, _I_ could cook alright, but it was Gail's cooking that averted my mind from the water that wanted to swallow our 747 whole.

The plane landed at LaGuardia Airport after a seven hour flight from Paris. The first face I saw when I got off was Gail's. Before I knew it, I was being suffocated by a tangle of arms, bags, and 50 polyester sweatshirts. "Oh!" Gail exclaimed, holding me at arm's length. "Look at you! Five months is way too long, Cynthia Ann!"

I smiled. "I know. I missed you so much. And I ---" It was then that I noticed what was missing from the picture. Searching the groups of people hugging, kissing, laughing, and crying, there was one face I knew would stand out from the others. "Gail? Where's Robi? Isn't he coming?"

"Did you check your bags, hon, or is this it?" She examined my tote bag and rolling suitcase as though they were the most important things on the planet.

I tried to catch her eyes, but she wouldn't look directly at me. "What is it?"

She seemed unusually sad and continued to avert my eyes. "Let's go. I'll tell you in the car. Not here." Gail reached for my hands and pulled me with her toward the exit. I went willingly, but I couldn't help but feel that something awful was going to happen once we left the airport.

Gail, a true New Yorker, whistled with her two fingers in her mouth to hail a cab. The driver loaded my suitcase into the trunk and the two of us settled into the backseat. I knew to buckle my seatbelt first thing because I knew she wouldn't say a word until I did so. Her motherly instincts always took over in transportation vehicles. "_Now_ will you tell me what happened to him?" I asked, unable to mask my eagerness and impatience to find out.

She picked up her purse and began shuffling anxiously through its contents. I knew it wasn't good news because Gail always had to keep her hands busy when she was nervous. "It's not what happened to _him_, Cyndi. You see, the reason he didn't come to the airport was because he got an e-mail from Orminia yesterday." She looked up at me to make sure I was following. I nodded for her to continue. "His mom said that he needed to come right away because his dad is really sick. He had a stroke and he isn't doing so great."

I was silent for a minute, contemplating what this meant. "If Guitar Guy's dad is dying then that means…" I looked up to Gail for reassurance, for some more information that would prove me wrong. She didn't have any to give me. "Oh! Poor Robi! He hasn't even graduated yet. He's barely twenty. He must be devastated."

She nodded. "Queen Szuszanna thought it would be best if he came home."

"I'm texting him," I told her, taking out my cell phone. I really wanted there to be more to the story. I wanted him to tell me that King Istvan wouldn't die, that he wouldn't have to become king of Orminia all of a sudden, and that he would be home in time to spend Christmas and New Years with Gail and me. _If _I'm_ this scared, how's _he_ taking this?_

**Cyndi: ****i**** heard. how's it ****goin**

**Robi****ur**** home? ****srry****i'm**** not there.**

**Cyndi: it's ok. when did u leave?**

**Robi****: 2 hrs ago. ****i'll**** be in ****Tsepadub**** soon. **

**Cyndi: call me when u get there, k?**

**Robi****: sure. **

I closed my phone and Gail raised her eyebrows, her way of asking a question without using any actual words. "He's not there yet," I said, "so he couldn't tell me anything."

She squeezed my shoulder. "I'm sorry he can't be here, but we'll have a great Christmas, just the two of us, you'll see."

I knew that Gail and I were more than capable of celebrating Christmas alone and having it be wonderful, but I wasn't quite willing to acknowledge the fact that he wouldn't be sharing it with us. What was Christmastime in suburbia without Guitar Guy? "Miracles happen at Christmastime," I offered hopefully. "He might still show up."

Gail shrugged. "Anything is possible, I guess."

_BREAK_

I presented the mayor of New York City with a bowl of my very best mashed potatoes and gravy. He tasted it, made a funny face, and spit it out in my face. "You can't cook if Guitar Guy's not here," he said, matter-of-factly. I nodded sadly as I realized it was probably the truth.

_Brrmmh__brrmmh__brrmmh__…__brrmmh__brrmmh__brrmmh_

I sat up in bed with a start. I wasn't in New York City at all, but in my bedroom, surrounded by furniture that tended to be less judgmental than most politicians. From outside I could hear Will Hoffman, who lived across the street, revving the motor of his '96 Jeep Cherokee. He was having trouble starting it…again. I felt bad for him. It was cold outside, probably below freezing, and it was no fun to be stuck outside trying to get your car to start at seven-thirty in the morning.

Grateful to be inside where it was nice and warm, I wrapped myself up tighter in my down comforter and tried to go back to sleep.

_Brrmmh__brrmmh__brrmmh__…__brrmmh__brrmmh__brrmmh_

A few moments later, when I was just minutes from sleep, the doorbell rang. Gail was one of those people who went all out with homey touches. Before she'd adopted me, I'd been living there for at least thirteen years with people who couldn't have cared less if there were curtains in the windows or matching pillow cases on the beds, but when she moved in (I'd spent too much time trying to stay in this house to move to hers after the adoption) she'd brought doormats, coo-coo clocks, liquid soap dispensers shaped like frogs, and candles that smelled like cinnamon. I wondered if the house had had those sorts of things back before Mom left us. I wondered how I'd ever lived without them and why I'd never made Dad buy them. That morning, however, when the doorbell Gail had installed started playing Beethoven instead of just plain _ding-dong_, I thanked God for those years without annoying doorbells that awakened me from my beauty sleep.

Gail was a sound sleeper. She probably hadn't even stirred in her bed. So I sat up, stretched, stepped into my fuzzy slippers, put on my robe, and trudged downstairs. Even in my flannel, checkered pajama pants I was shivering. Squinting as the early morning sunshine hit my darkness-accustomed eyes, I opened the door to find a very embarrassed and very cold Will Hoffman standing on the front step.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to keep the usual morning grumpiness from my voice.

"Uh…I didn't wake you up, did I?"

I smiled. His car was dead and I didn't want to make him feel any worse. "No. Blame Michael Bloomberg."

He looked confused. "The mayor? Why?"

I shook my head, still smiling. "Never mind. Are you having car troubles?"

Will adjusted his glasses, trying to look dignified despite the circumstances. "Yeah. It won't start and I've got to be to work in…" He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes. My mom's on the Hudson with her boyfriend and my girlfriends in California on break, so that leaves you. Sorry."

I nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Don't you work at the Greek restaurant on 29th Street?"

"Yep."

"Can I put on some clothes real quick? You can come inside if you want to. It's freezing out here." He nodded and came inside. He hadn't been in the living room for almost seven years. "I'll just be a minute," I assured him on my way up the stairs, hoping my tone apologized for the awkwardness we both felt.

We were in the car ten minutes later with the heat on full blast, blowing into our cupped hands to keep warm. Gail had bought me a used Volvo for my seventeenth birthday (I learned to drive pretty late in life) because she was always saying they were the safest cars for a teenager. I'd been leaning towards a Miatta for quite some time, but I'd grown to appreciate my little car. It was painted a nice dark blue, was pretty roomy inside, and hadn't needed to go to the shop since Gail bought it for me.

"Sweet ride," my neighbor said, buckling his seatbelt.

I wasn't sure if he was complimenting me or making fun of me. Either way, I would be a good sport about it. "Thanks," I replied, with just enough sarcasm and just enough appreciativeness in my voice to make him think I'd understood what he meant. I had learned that trick in France because I only understood about three words in ten and wanted everyone to get the impression I heard every word they said.

"What year is it?"

"Umm…I thinks it's either a '98 or a '99. I'm not sure. Sure isn't an '07, though. I can tell you that much."

He nodded. "It runs good." Will tapped the dashboard as though giving my Volvo a congratulations love pat for driving so well.

"Yeah. Which is more than you can say for your car."

He laughed. "Tell me about it. That thing's a p.o.s. and everyone knows it."

I pulled up at the restaurant. "Here we are. When do you get off? Will you need a ride?"

With the passenger side door open, so all the cold air came inside the car, he weighed his options for a moment. "If my boss can't take me home, I'll give you a call. How's that?"

"Sure. Just let me know."

As I drove home, I thought about the years when the two of us had played together and I couldn't figure out the real reason why we'd stopped being friends. I'd always thought it was because he'd suddenly gotten weird and started smoking marijuana, but after this car ride, I began to wonder if any or all of that was just rumors I had heard from people at my old high school. He didn't look or act like he was on drugs, and saying that someone was "weird" seemed like such a broad description that I couldn't even remember why I'd labeled him that way. If he'd changed at all, he'd just gotten taller and more attractive. In fact, he reminded me a lot of Superman's cover, Clark Kent. I doubted that Will Hoffman flew or wore blue tights and a red cape, but maybe he could be a journalist. What was he going to college for? I racked my brain, sure that Mrs. Hoffman had told me exactly what he was majoring and minoring in, and suddenly remembered that he was really involved in drama. He acted and sang and stuff like that. Three summers ago, he'd been in _The Sound of Music_. There was obviously a lot more to the boy who lived across the street than my immature assumptions of him.

_BREAK_

"Do planes ever get delayed 48 hours?" I asked Gail over breakfast the next morning, as I dipped my sausage link into the pool of syrup flowing off my waffle.

She finished pouring syrup into each one of her waffle's squares. "Forty-eight? I don't think so. Why?"

"Because Robi never called. The plane should have landed by now, wouldn't you think? It's been two days and I'm worried about him."

She considered the question as she stirred her too-hot coffee. "I'm sure he just spaced out," Gail said finally. "I'm sure that he _meant_ to call you."

I rushed up to my room to get the phone out of my charger. When I was charging it, I stuck it in the top drawer of my dresser because the little green, pulsing light was enough to keep me awake when I charged it at night. I dialed his number.

**Cyndi: hey**

**Robi****cyndi****? o. how's it ****goin****'? **

**Cyndi: alright. happy x-****mas**** eve, eve. **

**Robi****: eve, eve? **

**Cyndi: yeah, it's the eve of Christmas Eve. **

**Robi****: ok, then. ****srry****i**** didn't call u yesterday **

**Cyndi: it's ok. just wanted to make sure u were alright. u r, ****rn't**** u?**

**Robi****: shrugs ****i've**** been better. but can we talk about this l8er? **

**Cyndi: yeah, ****i**** guess so. bye **

**Robi****: bye**

I decided that things weren't good. Things weren't good at all. But was there anything I could do about it? _Not unless you can sho__w__ up in __Orminia__ with a cure for __Robi's__ dad. _

Gail knocked on my door and came in. "So?" she asked.

I shrugged. "He was all, 'can we talk later?' and so I said we could. I think it's even worse than I thought."

She sat next to me on the floor at the foot of my dresser. "You haven't forgotten your theory about Christmas miracles _already_ have you?"

I shook my head, though of course I already had.

"Good then. What we'll do is get your mind off this. I'll bet every single person in Orminia is worrying over this, so you don't need to too. Let's go bowling or something. What do you say?"

After thinking for a moment, I remembered somebody who always used to go bowling with me. "Can Will Hoffman come with us?"

Gail looked surprised, but she didn't object to it. "If you want him to, then sure."

_BREAK_

A/N:

Please Review: )


	2. Chapter 2: Unexpected Visitor

_A/N: Ta-dah! Here's chapter two._

**_Warning:_ **_POV swtiches ahead. Try not to be confused by them at your own risk._

Chapter Two: Unexpected Visitor

_CYNDI_

We made our way to the bowling alley on 29th Street, between the Greek restaurant where Will worked and the thrift store where Mike Mancini (God so help me for remembering the guy) used to work, with the heat and the windshield wipers on as high as they would go. There were still patches of snow on the ground from the last snow fall, but today it was raining, not snowing. It would snow for just long enough every December to get people's hopes up, then rain would start coming down in sheets just days before Christmas to set everyone straight. Had there ever been a white Christmas in Applewood? Maybe if I moved to Alaska…

A lot of other people had had the very same idea. The place was packed with teenagers, ladies with seventies hair in blue and black cardigans, five-year-olds eating chilly cheese fries, and bearded men smoking cigarettes while playing pinball in the arcade. It was dimly lit and the heat was high, so we pulled off our coats, laced up our brown and dark green bowling shoes, and set ourselves up in alley 19. I stole the last 12-pound ball from the rack while Will typed our names into the screen. Secretly, I longed for bumpers, but I didn't say anything.

Gail went first and knocked down nine pins. Then Will got a strike and we cheered for him. I got two gutter balls in a row because my bowling skills, after at least two years without any practice, were minimal. It went something like that for five frames---- Gail knocking down eight or nine, Will getting five strikes in a row, and myself about ready to throw a ball at someone's head in my frustration. So far, I had a three.

"Cyndi, do you need some help?" Will finally asked me, as I started to prepare for my sixth frame. When I say prepare, that doesn't mean I had any sort of bowling stance. I just stood there and got ready to plunge the ball back into the gutter for the umpteenth time. I could hardly believe I used to spend nearly every Friday night here with Will Hoffman. Back then, we'd been at about the same level, but I hadn't bowled a 90 since fifth grade. After we'd stopped being friends, I'd just drifted farther and farther away from the 29th Street Bowling Alley, and in the past six years I'd only gotten worse. The birthday parties and rainy days that I'd spent there since had been few and far between, and I'd slowly resigned to the fact that I was a terrible bowler with no hopes of improvement.

"If you don't think I'm a hopeless case," I said pitifully.

He smiled, coming up behind me. "Remember when we used to come all the time and you used to beat me?"

"Barely."

"Well, here," he said, taking the ball from my hands, "let me refresh your memory. You see that middle black triangle on the floor there?" I nodded. "That's the center mark. You want the ball to be centered, so you have to line it up with that triangle."

He looked at me to make sure I understood what he was talking about.

I had no idea.

"Got it."

"Good. But your approach is awful, you know that?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Okay. So what you have to do is take three steps, bend your left leg, extend your right leg, extend your right arm with the ball in it out behind you, then you center your ball like I showed you…and roll." Will exaggerated each motion as he explained them and after the ball rolled down the lane it hit the middle pin with a _smack!_ and all ten pins came crashing down. He smiled proudly. "Okay. Now you try."

"Umm…" I watched his strike in amazement, knowing I could never do that in a million years.

"Come on, Cyndi." He handed me his ball. "It's easy if you do it right."

Will appeared to have genuine faith in me, which was nice. I'd spent enough time around people rooting for me to fail at everything that I'd learned to appreciate any type of encouragement. I took a deep breath and reached for the ball. Slowly, I took three steps, bent my left leg, extended my right leg and my right arm, centered the ball with the middle black triangle, and let it go. It hit the middle pin with a _smack!_ and all ten pins came crashing down. It was almost like watching an instant replay.

"I did it!" I screeched. "Will? Did you see? Did you see me do it?"

"Holy crap! Cyndi, that was great!"

"Thanks!" I squeezed him tight around the shoulders.

He patted my back slightly and then wriggled out of my arms. "You're welcome." He cleared his throat, almost nervously. "Gail, it's your turn."

_ROBI_

There are better ways to spend the days before Christmas than sitting in the waiting room at St. Agatha's Hospital reading Charles Dickens. I can think of about ten right now and I'm not even thinking that hard. I'd already read _A Christmas Carol _about six times. It's a good story with a happy ending and a great message, but the more you read about Scrooge, his wonderful Christmas, and the way he saved Tiny Tim's life, the more you want to rip out the pages and strangle somebody with them. Or at least whack someone over the head with the hard back book. Unless there were three ghosts ready to show up and help me, this was going to be the worst Christmas ever. I looked up from my book and searched the dark, empty hallways and sighed. Nope. Not yet. I checked my watch. 11: 30. At least I had twenty-four hours for them to show up.

"Your Highness?"

I looked up from _Stave III_ to see my dad's private nurse, Terezia, standing over me. "Yeah?"

She had a squeaky, nervous voice that I could barely hear over the sound of the heater behind the couch. "It's your turn to go in now."

I jumped up and handed her the book. Let _her _deal with Charles Dickens and his dumb Christmases where everyone was happy eating giant geese and puddings. I should have been eating puddings at Cyndi's house, but I was stuck in this gloomy place watching my father suffer and my future slip away with nothing I could do to change it. "Okay."

Terezia offered me a sad, half smile. "We think he's improving," she said squeakily.

"You _think_ he's improving? _Think?_ Unless you have a definite answer to give me, I don't want to hear it!" I shouted.

Not really. I would have liked to, though. It would have been a good way to vent my anger. I just nodded, got up from the couch, and walked to the elevator. Mom had wanted to care for him at home, but Uncle Ambrus, her brother who was a doctor at St. Agatha's, had convinced her it would be easier and more convenient for him to be there. So Mom had finally settled with getting him the entire fourth floor of the hospital. He only used one of the forty-five rooms up there, but when my mother felt in control and extra special, it helped to settle her nerves some. As I tapped on the door, I wished mine could be settled so easily .

Uncle Ambrus answered, his face solemn as usual, and patted my shoulder sympathetically on his way out the door. The blinds were pulled, the lights were off, and my mother sat in a chair by his bedside with _Pride and Prejudice_ opened in her lap. I smiled despite myself. With her head back, her mouth open, and her tongue lulling out, there was no trace of the queenly demeanor she tried so hard to maintain. Out in public, with her stoic expression pasted on her face, it was sometimes hard to tell just how much she loved my father. It was easy to it see now. Family crises bring out the devotion people feel for each other like nothing else.

"Mom?" I asked quietly. "Mom?"

She flickered her eyes open.

"Hi, Mom. We can switch now. You can go home 'til tomorrow morning, okay?"

My mother rose slowly. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my forehead. "You're so good," she whispered. "Coming home from college and your girlfriend and everything to sit in a musty hospital room. When he wakes up, I know he'll be proud of you. He loves you so much."

I nodded. "Yeah, I know. " I knew if I said too much more, my voice would break and the tears I'd been holding back for days would spill over. I wouldn't let myself cry, even in a dark room where no one else could see. "We'll get through this, Mom."

She hugged me. _"Keessuu ne monpetru de,"_ she said, "In our hearts we find the strength." It was an old Orminian proverb, something some dead dude had said after some battle where some people died a long time ago. I knew it was meant to be inspirational, but it simply reminded me how many other feelings were in my heart at the moment. How much fear, anger, and sadness were swelling there where strength was supposed to be. I wasn't really any stronger than my small, feeble, crying mother.

_CYNDI_

"I saw that look, Gail," I said as we came inside the house after dropping off Will.

She feigned confusion. "What look?"

I hung my coat up on the rack and put my mittens in the left pocket. "At the bowling alley. After I hugged Will, you did that thing with your eyebrows that you do."

Gail smiled. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about." She walked into the kitchen and put her purse on the counter, then opened up the fridge and took out a carton of milk. "Hot chocolate?" she asked.

"_Gail_. You know exactly what I'm talking about. But you're wrong."

She took the cocoa powder out of the cupboard where we kept the spices. "Get me a pan, won't you, hon?" Gail started adjusting the knobs on the stove.

"Gail!"

She leaned back against the oven. "Oh, alright. So I gave you 'the look'? What's wrong with that? That boy adores you, and you know it."

I sighed and handed her a pan. "Gail, Will was just showing me how to bowl. We always used to when we were kids and he was just doing it for old time's sake. He doesn't adore me. He probably doesn't even _like_ me. His car is in the shop and I helped him out yesterday, so he went bowling with us to make it up to me, that's all. If Joe and Moe had offered to take him to a Russian literature conference, he would have gone with _them_ today if they'd given him a ride to work."

She poured the cocoa into the milk on the stove. "But who'd he ask to give him a ride to work yesterday? He didn't ask the boom box twins, now did he?"

"But Will---" _Ding dong ding __ding__ dong ding __ding__ dong. Ding dong __dong__ ding dong __dong__ ding dong. _

"Will you get that, Cyndi? I'm busy with the chocolate."

"Sure." I rushed to answer the door before whoever it was pressed the doorbell a second time and started the dumb ring all over again. _Ding dong ding __ding__ dong ding __ding__ dong. Ding dong __dong__ ding dong __dong__ ding dong. _Too late. A blond woman in a mismatched business suit stood outside. Her black leather purse was shaking in her left hand and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. The lenses of her brown rimmed glasses reflected my shocked expression as I suddenly recognized the woman staring back at me and fainted on the hard wood floor.

_ROBI_

Sometime after midnight--- it's easy to lose track of the hours when you're sitting in the dark in a room without a clock--- my pants started vibrating. It took a minute for my half-asleep mind to realize that really it was my phone, not my pants. I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled it out. I had a new text message.

**Cyndi: my MOM is here. call me. ****i've**** got 2 talk 2 u NOW.**

Her mom? What? She'd mentioned her mom maybe twice in all the time I'd know her. Christine Moretti had left Cyndi and her dad to join the Peace Corps fifteen years ago and nobody had heard from her since. Why she would pop up now, after all this time, didn't make any sense, but I guess that was the meaning behind the capital letters.

I called her . What time was it in New York? Was she asleep? Eating dinner? Breakfast? This was a problem when she was Paris too. I could never get the time difference straight. And it only got worse during daylight savings time, which was a ridiculous American idea that was useless when figuring out what time it was in France. Finally, after five or six rings, she picked up. "Robi? Thank God!"

She sounded terrible, like she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown. "Hey," I said, trying not to sound tired or cranky or even the least bit uncomfortable. I hoped I sounded more like Dr. Phil. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! Did you _read_ my message?"

"Well, it didn't say _much_. Your _mom_ showed up? As in the lady who left you and your dad when you were three?"

"Yes. Robi, what do I do? Seriously. Tell me what to do. I can hardly even think. I can hardly even breathe. I need you so bad. "

I sighed. I was having my own crisis at the moment and I was in no position to solve other people's problems, not when I couldn't even solve my own. When had people ever started depending on me? What had convinced them that I was capable of more than wishing some ghosts would show up and tell me what I was supposed to do? My prestigious, prefect mother was snoring in a hospital at night and my girlfriend was having a nervous breakdown and I was supposed to help them out? Nobody was supposed to become devoted to _me_ in a crisis. "Uh…Cyndi, I don't know. I really wish I did, but I don't. You know I want to be there to help you through all this. I would be if I could. But I just…"

"She just showed up on the doorstep. Literally. She didn't even say anything. She just stood there, looking like my mom. And then I fainted, but when I came to she was gone. I thought I dreamed it at first, but then she called me!"

"What'd she say?"

"I don't know. I didn't answer the phone. Would _you_ have answered?"

"Uh…"

"Of course you would have answered. You'd have known exactly what to say. You would have invited her to have sushi with you and then taken her for a picnic in Central Park or something. Is that what I should have done? Do you think she wants back into my life? Should I let her? Gosh…I'm so confused."

I fidgeted a bit in my chair and switched my cell to the other hand. "You know, Cyn, I think you should just call her back. No sushi or Central Park or anything, just a phone call. What's the worst that could happen?"

"But I don't know what to say to her. What do I say to her? How on earth should I strike up a conversation with my _mom_?"

I rubbed my eyes, which I was having trouble keeping open, and tried to stay focused. If she thought I could help her, the least I could do was stay awake through an entire phone call. "I don't know. Make a joke or something. Talk about food. You know a lot about food. Or ask her how she ended up at your house. I'll bet there's a really long story there. Talk about the last fifteen years. I strongly doubt you'll run out of things to say. But you better call her quick. It's after midnight and most people are asleep by now."

"What? After midnight? It's four-thirty in the afternoon. Oh! Robi, I'm soooo sorry! I didn't even think. I just texted you without thinking. And I didn't ask about you. How are things going? How's your dad? Where are you? Are you at the hospital? Are you alright? Are you tired? What about your mom? How's she?"

I laughed. "Cyndi, slow down. It's okay you didn't ask. You have your own problems. I understand. Now call your mom, okay? I think you'll be glad you did."

She sounded hesitant. She knew I hadn't answered a single one of her questions. She wasn't stupid. But at the same time, I knew she knew I was hiding it for a reason and she wouldn't bring it up again. "Uh…sure. I will. Thanks for your help, Rob. You always know what to do."

_Yeah, despite the fact that I never do. Despite the fact I'm too scared to tell you what's really going on because I don't want to admit that. _"Anytime. I'm always here, you know."

BREAK

A/N:

Please review. I love to get them. : )


	3. Chapter 3: Mazel Tov

_A/N: Here's chapter three! Things are starting to get tense..._

Chapter Three: Mazel Tov

The phone was shaking in my hands. I just couldn't seem to hold it still. I looked at it, got ready to dial, and then chickened out. I hadn't said a word to her since I was three years old and she hadn't said a word to me. It was almost as if having no mother defined who I was. It was a part of me. For most of my life, it'd just been my dad and me. I had fond memories of those years, the best years of my life. And after that it had been The Sisters and me, which was probably the saddest excuse for a family anyone had ever come by. Gail was the closest thing I'd ever had to a real mother, at least that I could remember, and I liked it that way. Most of all, I liked the little family I'd made for myself, with Gail, Beth and Jimmy from Bob's Best, and Robi. None of us were related, but it didn't matter. I was happier than I'd been since before Dad died.

So what now? Here was this woman, this woman I didn't know who was supposedly the only _real_ family I had in this world. Having her back changed everything. The days when I'd imagined her returning one day weren't so very long ago. A girl's mind wanders when she doesn't have a mom around. She can't help but think of what it would be like to have a mother like all her friends did. Someone to take her shopping, talk about boys with, bake with, and watch chick flicks with. How could I help myself? But what I'd learned since then was to except that that wasn't going to happen and to appreciate what I did have. I'd grown up from the little dreamer into the realistic chef surrounded by people who would never go off to Africa. My life made sense again. It was easier than it had been in a long time. One phone call would change everything.

It rang. I nearly dropped it in surprise. I was exasperated. What kind of world was this where people actually called you on the telephone?

"Cyndi!" Gail called from the kitchen. "Cyndi? Is that the phone? Do you have it? It's not on the receiver!"

I hadn't told her about my mom. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want my real mom showing up to ruin what we had. It wasn't fair that I'd once been stuck with no mom and now I suddenly had two. "Yeah!" I called back. "Yeah, I'll get it." I took a deep breath and pressed the talk button.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Cyndi. It's Jimmy O'Reilly. How are you?"

_All that for nothing? We really need caller ID. _"Good." I sat down on my bed and let myself breathe again. My dad's old catering partner wasn't as intimidating as my long lost mother. "You?"

"Well, me and Beth are pretty swamped over here. We've got to cater at the Aronowitzes' Chanukah party at the Convention Center tonight, but Loretta, Sam, and Karen all called off tonight. You don't think you and Gail could head over to Bob's Best, do you?"

"Uh…hold on one sec." I put my hand over the mouth piece. "Gail! Jimmy's on the phone! There's a catering gig tonight at the Convention Center. Josh's family's Chanukah party! Can we help out?"

"Sure!"

"Sure. We'll be there."

"Sweet. You girls rock."

"I know. Just give us like five minutes, okay?"

"Thanks so much, Cyndi."

BREAK

An hour later, carrying a tray of matzo balls, I made my way around the ballroom at the Convention Center. A man was singing in front of a live band on a low stage. People were dancing. Our tables were set up in the back of the room with trays full of steaming meat dishes and pastries I couldn't pronounce. The large room was decorated with blue, silver, and white balloons, banners, and streamers. Seven or eight circular tables covered in white and silver tablecloths lined the dance floor.

I hadn't expected to find anybody there that I knew. Though I'd gone to school with Josh Aronowitz a long time ago, I wouldn't consider us friends. They held the Chanukah party annually and Bob's Best catered every year. I'd helped cook in the past but I'd certainly never been invited. I was a DOC who only knew people in the kitchen. Once everyone had helped themselves to dinner and dessert, I sat down at a table by myself and took out my phone to text Robi.

_What time __is__ it in __Orminia__? Like two? Would he be awake at two?_ All I knew was that there was something seriously wrong going on that he was purposely not telling me about. He never kept things from me. In the five months we'd spent apart, he'd called me in Paris every weekend to tell me all the stuff going on. Nothing ever went on in Applewood, but we'd still talked for hours about the uneventful events that took place. In the past few days, we'd talked on the phone once and he hadn't said a word about himself. I had a right to be worried.

**Cyndi: is it 2 in ****the ****a.m. there?**

"Mazel tov."

Startled, I flipped my phone shut and turned around. "Will?"

"Hey." He pulled out a chair next to me and sat down. "How's it goin'?"

"Okay, I guess. Just catering. What about you? Why are _you_ here?"

"Well, the Aronowitzes are old friends of my dad's. I think my grandma was Jewish. Or Polish. I'm not really sure. Anyway, I like parties. So I came."

I laughed.

He pointed to my phone. "Who're you talking to?"

He hadn't texted me back. Either he was asleep or he was ignoring me. I really hoped it was the former. I sighed. "No one, apparently. Why?"

"Because I was going to ask you to dance, but I didn't want to interrupt a conversation."

I thought about what Gail had said about him being into me, but it still didn't make any sense. He had a girlfriend. I didn't know her real name, just that she acted with him. She'd played Leisel von Trapp in the _Sound of Music _with him three summers ago. Not only that, but he'd brought her up himself the day before. And he knew about Robi and me. Everyone in town did. How many girls in the suburbs dated European princes? So Gail had to be wrong. She just had to be. That meant there was nothing wrong with dancing with him. It was just a nice, thoughtful gesture, and I appreciated it. "I'd like that."

"Okay, then." He held out his hand and escorted me to the dance floor. Will was a great dancer. He had to be to be in the theater business. I, on the other hand, could have been better. I'm not the most graceful person in the world. I've had some very clumsy moments in my life. But Will Hoffman was good enough for the both us, so nobody really noticed.

"I've been thinking," I said, letting my mind wander as we relaxed into the motions of the dance. "I just can't seem to remember why we stopped being friends. It was a long time ago and I guess I spaced out. But something must have happened, right? Cuz we used to be like best friends in elementary school. What happened?"

"Umm…" His face went white. I hadn't expected to offend him. But of course I had. If I didn't remember what had happened, who's to say I hadn't made a huge mistake? Who's to say he hadn't? There was probably some sort of unresolved issue between us, something awful, and I'd just forced him to remember it.

"Oh," I said, because I didn't really know what else to say. "Well, whatever happened, we can be friends now, can't we? It can be like it used to be, only you'll be a better dancer and I'll be a crappier bowler."

He smiled slightly. "Cyndi, I…" He sighed, apparently thinking better of what he was about to say. "Yeah. I don't remember either. Let's be."

Something about the way he said it aroused my suspicions. He was obviously hiding something. But I knew when to pry and when to leave it alone. I didn't bring it up again that night and I eventually forgot all about it.

_ROBI_

Like all fathers and sons, my dad and I had our quarrels. Ours tended to be a little more private than others, since we didn't want a picture of the two of us bickering to show up on the cover of the _Tsepadub__ Star. _All that meant, however, was that I could always tell when my father was upset with me. It took just one look from him to warn me, and it had always been that way. Just one piercing glare and I would know that he was angry. He never raised his voice. He didn't have to. My dad had enough charisma, enough presence, that his whisper had the same effect on someone that a shout from anyone else would. It came with the whole king thing. After all, that's what he was. He was a king first and a father second. How many times had he said that without actually _saying_ that? I'd lost count.

My parents had me late in life, when they were in their late thirties. Before that Orminia was at war with Serbia, which wasn't anything unusual, and they'd been busy with other things. Having me had always been on their to-do lists. They knew the country would never have forgiven them if they hadn't produced an heir. In those ten years of marriage before I came around, they'd had a lot of time to think about the way I was going to turn out. My parents put a lot of thought into it. I was going to be the perfect child, the child they'd always longed for, the child they'd promised Orminia. My life was planned out for me long before I showed up. It was sort of like my actual birth was the last piece of the puzzle.

That was the main reason my father and I never got along. I didn't turn out to be the perfect child they'd always wanted. I was a big disappointment. They never understood the pressure it put on me to know that I was the evil twin of Robi The Perfect Son, who I couldn't measure up to no matter what I did. I was expected to just sit back and watch them make all my decisions for me until I grew up with absolutely no notion of what I really wanted. Before I went away to college, that was the story of my life.

I cherished those few years away from Orminia. In New York I'd gotten to experience so much more. I could view the world however I wanted to view it. I was allowed to think for myself. I had actual opinions about things. I made my own decisions. At the end of the day, I was somebody who I loved to be. There is no better feeling in the world than that.

But the worst feeling in the world is being brought back down to earth after living in the clouds for so long. That e-mail I got from my mother after my father had a stroke, asking me to come back to Orminia, had made me realize something. As much as I hated to admit it, that loving-life, making-my-own-decisions, being-who-wanted-to-be-at-the-end-of-the-day guy wasn't who I really was. I was still the little boy who needed his parents to tell him how to live his life. I was still the kid who depended on them to make his decisions for him because he didn't know what he really wanted. Without them, I was hopeless. Without my father controlling my life, there was no way I could live it. How could I ever be king? What kind of country would Orminia turn out to be with _me_ in charge? It all went back to the strength issue, back to people thinking I knew I what I was doing. The perfect son my parents had wanted would have been strong enough to know what to do in this situation. He would take control and fix everything. But I couldn't.

I looked over at my father, sleeping in his hospital bed, and knew that I hadn't given him nearly enough credit. He'd tried his hardest to turn his failure of a son into a strong, smart person like him, and I'd been fool enough to try and escape that. _Don't die, Dad_, I told him telepathically, hoping that he would somehow sense my wish. _I need you. You can't even imagine how much I need you. _

_CYNDI_

Gail and I got home late from the party. It was about ten thirty and it was raining again. The cold winter drizzle soaked the streets and left trails of water, like tears, on the windows. The beeping in the dark, empty kitchen as we walked in out of the rain wasn't unexpected. I'd been anticipating it the whole time we were at the party.

After hanging up our coats, I switched on the lights and saw the answering machine, attached to the phone receiver on the kitchen counter, with its pulsing red light. I knew that this time I would have to call her back. It was as simple as that. Someone who left her child and her husband to join the Peace Corps probably didn't have enough patience to wait around for her daughter to return a phone call. If I didn't call her back would she run off to Africa with the monkeys and the elephants and the little African people in huts? She'd given that up to find me again. Didn't that mean something?

I pressed the play button. "You have one new message," said the deep, monotone computer voice.

"Hi, Cyndi." My mom's voice was shaking. It was a quiet, squeaky little voice, like the voice of a little girl. Somehow it wasn't what I thought a mother's voice should have sounded like. "It's your mother again. I know I should have told you I was coming. I wish I had. Showing up like that wasn't the right thing to do. I scared you and I'm sorry. I don't blame you for not calling me back." She sighed. "If I were you I wouldn't have either. So I won't call again, not if you don't want to talk to me. But if you ever get around to it, my number's 394-1067. Okay? Bye, sweetie."

Tears were clouding my eyes. I didn't know why I was crying. Were they tears of sadness or anger? I looked up. Gail was standing there, frozen with her leather purse held just above the table. I couldn't read the expression on her face.

"Uh…yeah. That was my mom. She's in town." I didn't know what else to say.

She nodded. "Are you going to call her back?"

I hoisted myself up onto the counter next to the phone receiver and shrugged. "I don't know, Gail. It's just so much, her being here, you know?"

She waited. Gail knew when I was finished with a thought and when I still had more to say.

"I guess I should. I guess that would be the right thing to do. Just a phone call. But I tried before and I can't make myself do it. It's too hard. I don't know what to say. Robi said I should call her. He'd do it. He'd have sushi with her in Central Park. I don't know what to do, though. What do you think?"

"It's up to you, hon," she said after a while. "The woman left you when you were a little girl and I think it should be up to you whether or not you're willing to give her another chance."

I chewed on the hang nail on my thumb. "Remember when I said that anything can happen at Christmas? Do you think this is one of those things? A Christmas miracle?"

"If you want to call it that, then sure."

"I'm gonna do it," I said. "I'm gonna call her, Gail. Right now. Do you think she's awake?"

"I think that if _you_ call her, she'll wake up."

A/N:

Is _this_ a cliffie? As you can see, I am trying very hard...

Review, please: )


	4. Chapter 4: Lunch

_A/N: I know hardly anyone reads this but... _

_Here's chapter four!_

Chapter Four: Lunch

_ROBI_

Everyone in the hospital was waiting for my father to wake up. He'd been tottering on the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness, between life and death, for three days now, but until he fully regained consciousness my uncle couldn't do anything. And my father needed treatment and therapy. Months of it, from what I understood. Having a stroke was life-altering. If you lived at all, you sometimes had to learn things all over again. Your brain activity went haywire. You slurred your words and sometimes, you woke up with a foreign accent even though you never had one before.

I thought about those things as I looked at my dad that Christmas Eve morning. The sun was rising and my mom was coming in about an hour to relieve me of my post and send me home. I didn't know what I was supposed to do when I got there. If anybody expected me to sleep, they were crazy. What was I supposed to do, go to bed as Robi and wake up as King Rbert Istvan Zsebastian III? When people had said strokes were life-altering for the person having them, they'd obviously forgotten to mention their sons. My dad was going to leave me a country! If not tomorrow, in 20 or 30 years. I wasn't looking forward to it. The only comfort I'd ever taken from it was that it wasn't going to happen for years and years and years. I wasn't responsible enough to take care of a dog, let alone 20,000,000 people. Were my parents crazy? I couldn't _do_ this!

I needed my dad to wake up. For the past hour, I'd been sending him telepathic messages, telling him to _please_ wake up so that Uncle Ambrus could start his therapy. But he hadn't listened. My dad hadn't so much as turned over. _I'll be the most supportive, understanding son of a guy-who-had-a –stroke-and-is-going-through-therapy ever, _I thought at him. _I'll organize your pills in those medicine trays that are labeled for every day of the week._

Nothing.

I flipped open my cell phone and looked at the time. 5:30. The doorway was empty. My father was still as a rock. I knew what I had to do. There really weren't a lot of options open. I sighed, walked over to my dad's bed, and kissed him on the cheek. _It's useless, Dad. I can't do this. You know it. I know it. _I looked over at the door one last time.

"Bye," I said.

_CYNDI_

It hadn't stopped raining in eighteen hours. Outside it drizzled steadily. I wished the rain would freeze. A white Christmas Eve seemed almost as sentimental as a white Christmas.

"Can I get you ladies something to drink?" the waiter, a man in a red polo shirt who was much too excited to be working on December 24th,, asked.

"I'll just have water," my mom said without looking up from her tri-folded, laminated menu.

He scribbled it onto his notepad and looked at me.

"Iced tea," I answered, still unsure whether asking for iced tea or asking for diet cola was more mature. The idea was to show my mother how grown up I was, but if my motive was to make her feel guilty for having no part in it to show her she shouldn't worry because I'd turned out just fine, I wasn't sure. "Unsweetened," I added for good measure. Adding spoonfuls and spoonfuls of sugar sounded really good right about then.

The waiter jotted that down as well. "Okey-dokey. I'll bring that right out for you." He smiled at us and walked away to over-enthusiastically tell the cook our drink order.

"Have you decided yet?" Mom asked me.

"Uh…" I didn't know if it would be more suitable to buy a really expensive steak to drain out her wallet or a nice light salad to show her I was respectful and felt guilty about spending her money. I wondered for the millionth time why I'd finally called her back the night before and agreed to have lunch with her. I hadn't sorted out my feelings well enough yet. "Chicken maybe?" Until I said it, I hadn't even glanced at the chicken portion of the menu.

"Mmm," she said, obviously trying too hard. "I love chicken. In Brazil I had this wonderful spicy lemon chicken. It was grilled in this marinade that tasted real orangey. But I haven't been able to find the recipe anywhere."

"Oh," I said. I knew she was smiling at me, but I kept my eyes glued to the menu.

The guy came back with our drinks and took our orders. My mom got a cheese burger and I got broccoli cheese soup. It wasn't expensive, but if things didn't go well, I decided I would get the five dollar slice of strawberry cheese cake.

"So," she said after he left, "what're doing for Christmas tomorrow?" My mom pushed her fries around with a fork.

_Who eats fries with a fork? _"Uh…me and Gail are doing the usual, I guess." I went back to stirring my soup. Something about eating lunch with my mother had just ruined my appetite.

"Oooh." I looked up from my soup just long enough to see her smile. "And what's the usual?" She took a big bite of cheese burger.

I stirred another packet of sugar into my tea. "Lots of food." I shrugged. "And presents." I hated the moment for ruining the excitement of Christmas and for making me sound like I wasn't looking forward to it.

"Sounds nice."

I fidgeted in my chair. "What about you?" I asked, forcing myself to enter her game of making small talk to cover up what we were thinking. On the inside I was screaming, but my voice came out quiet and a little squeaky.

She pushed her white blond hair behind her ears and adjusted her glasses. With a pang I realized I behaved exactly the same way when _I_ was nervous. "I don't know. Do you think Chinese delivers on Christmas?"

I picked at my thumb nail. "Maybe," I mumbled. It wasn't fair that I could end up feeling sorry for her. So she was spending Christmas alone in a hotel room? Why should I care?

She cleared her throat.

We sat in silence.

"You ladies doin' alright?" asked the dumb, enthusiastic waiter, coming to our table. He was so happy. I hated him.

_NO!!!!!!! _"We're okay."

"Okey-dokey." He left.

Suddenly I had an idea. It was the only way I could think of to get out of this place and go eat a turkey sandwich in my room. Why either of us had thought this would be a good idea was beyond me. We would just have to move on and pretend it had never happened. Nothing good had ever come from trying to cover up your mixed-up emotions with broccoli cheese soup and a $1.95 glass of iced tea. I reached under the table and unzipped my purse. I felt around for my phone, flipped it open, and texted Will Hoffman. Those days of texting Robi under my desktop during calculous senior year finally came in handy.

**Cyndi: call me on my cell real quick and hang up as**** soon as ****i**** answer. ****i'll****explain later.**

I crossed my fingers and went back to staring at my untouched bowl of soup. A few moments later, my phone started vibrating. _Thank God! _I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise and fished my phone out of my purse. "Hello?" _Beep. _"Oh? Really?" I nodded emphatically at my mother. "Are you serious? Oh my god! That's awful!" I nodded a few more times. "I don't know… Hold on."

"Uh…Mom?"

"Yes?"

"It's my friend Will. His car broke down _again. _He needs me to go pick him up and take him to the shop. I'm so sorry, but I promised I'd go help him out if this happened. Is that okay?" I tried my hardest to sound regretful.

She didn't have a clue what was really going on. My mother smiled with understanding. "That's fine, sweetie." She almost looked as relieved as I felt.

I stood up and put on my coat. "Thanks. Bye." I ran out of there like there was something chasing me.

**Cyndi: ****thanx, i**** think u just saved my life. **

**Will: how'd ****i**** do that?**

**Cyndi: ****i**** was stuck in a bad ****sitch**** and ****i**** needed ****ur**** help to get out of it.**

**Will: glad ****i**** could help u. **

I sat in the car for a minute before driving off because I needed a moment to think things through. We hadn't talked about anything over lunch. I didn't know what would happen next. Was this the end or the beginning? Would she disappear again tomorrow or would there be another message waiting for me when I got home? Things sure weren't settled between us. We were far from having a normal relationship, if that's what she'd been trying to accomplish by showing up all of a sudden. But even if we were no closer than we ever had been, even if I never saw her again, there was no way things could return to the way they'd been before. In that case, what had I really done by leaving like that? Had I just made a quick escape from a "bad sitch" or had I just made the biggest mistake of my life? I stuck the key in the ignition and drove away because I knew when things were out of my hands and when I'd done enough thinking to make any sane person crazy.

_BREAK_

I was still a little shook up when I got home, but I didn't say anything to Gail. I wasn't sure I could really explain this to anybody, even her. When I couldn't sort any of it out in my _own _head, I knew there wasn't any hope of helping others do so. What I needed was to sit in my room, pull the covers over my head, and not move until it was time to go back to France. I was one to choose flight over fight ---- if you haven't noticed that already ---- and it's hard to flee farther than Paris. I never was very good at thinking on my feet. I knew that when I was halfway to culinary school I would figure out what I should have done and by then it would be too late. All the more reason to hide in my room.

The house had that warm, snug feeling of a home at Christmastime, when it's cloudy and cold outside but cozy inside. It's the feeling that makes you want to start a fire in the hearth, put on a blanket, and watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ while drinking hot chocolate. But I doubted even James Stewart could cheer me up today.

Gail was in the kitchen as usual. She was wearing another one of her Christmas sweaters with the kittens and the snowflakes on it, her graying red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She didn't see me in the doorway because she was too enthralled in her cookies ---- the oatmeal raisin ones not even my dad could have made turn out right ---- to notice. She was humming "Jingle Bell Rock" and moving from task to task in the precise, relaxed way in which she always cooked. As I stood there watching her, a thought came to me. _She's my mom_, I thought, and it sounded right. _It's not that simple, though. Now I've got two. _I sighed.

Gail heard me. "Oh!" Wiping her greasy hands her apron front, she turned to face me. "Cyndi, I didn't even hear you come in. You're home earlier than I thought you would be. How was lunch? Tell me all about it." She took a blade covered in batter out of the mixer and handed it to me. "Wanna lick the batter?"

My stomach rumbled with hunger as I reached for it. I pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Gail leaned back against the oven, her favorite stance in the kitchen. "So…?"

"Well, it didn't go so well," I said sadly. "It was kinda awkward and we weren't talking and so I had Will text me, pretended it was an emergency, and left the restaurant." I sighed. There was more… so much more. But could I tell her? I smoothed my sweaty palms on my pant legs. "But then I wasn't sure if that's what I should have done or not. Do you think I'll ever see her again, Gail?"

"You didn't talk about that?" I could tell she was uncomfortable with the discussion. She'd been anxious a moment ago, but she probably wished by now that she hadn't asked.

"We didn't talk about anything but South American chicken cuisine. I didn't know what to say to her. If she wants to talk about food, I can talk about food all day, but we won't get anywhere. I wish I knew when she was leaving because then I might know what to do." It felt good to get it out there. My chest actually felt lighter. Even though that wasn't nearly all of it, it was _something_. I took a generous bite of raw oatmeal cookie.

Watching me, her face changed completely. Gail smiled. "I think you already know," she said confidently.

I looked up expectantly. Did I dare hope she had the answer to my problems? "What?"

"It's not a matter of whether you _know_ what to do," Gail told me. "It's a matter of whether or not you're going to _do_ it."

My heart sank. Just what I needed. A riddle. "But I don't…" I wined.

She shook her head, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. Gail liked pulling my strings. "Come help me get these cookies out of the oven," was all she would say.

Neither one of us was stupid enough to bring it up again.

_BREAK_

A/N:

THE END!

Just kidding. There are like five more chapters. Review!


	5. Chapter 5: I'll be Strong for You

A/N: _BYONT... maybe. _I_ think it's kind of sad. But it's also happy... _

Chapter Five: I'll be Strong for You

_CYNDI_

Gail and I were cooking dinner (I don't remember what. Something cheesy, I think) when the doorbell rang. It was around five-thirty in the afternoon, a little earlier than usual, but the day's events had made me hungry. I hadn't eaten lunch and my mother haunted all my thoughts. I kept wondering what it was I was already supposed to know, but I came up with nothing. It was like playing hide and seek and continually walking passed someone hiding right in the open. Once you finally do find them, you don't understand what took you so long. I was scared that when I figured it out, it would be too late to act.

"Go and answer that, would you, hon?" asked Gail, the top half of her in the freezer searching for a frozen container of spaghetti sauce.

Considering recent events, I was a little afraid to open the door. I'd been surprised more than once in the past few days by what I'd found on the other side. I hesitated. "Uh…"

They rang it again. That annoying _Ding dong ding __ding__ dong ding __ding__ dong. Ding dong __dong__ ding dong __dong__ ding dong. _

It always got to me. I rushed to answer it before whoever it was had a chance to press the bell again. My hands shaking just a little bit, I took a deep breath and turned the knob. If my father had stood there, come to tell me he'd actually been living on an island with man-eating monkeys for the past three years, I probably would have been prepared. When I saw who it actually was, I laughed out loud.

"Thank God!" I laughed, falling back against the doorjamb in relief. Will stood there, his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans and the same somewhat nervous smile on his face that made him look as though he were constantly trying to please the world. "I _hate_ monkeys!"

Will just shrugged. He'd gotten used to my strange, out-of-nowhere comments in the past two days and if they surprised him anymore, he didn't show it. "How's it goin'?"

I looked down at my shoes. "I don't know," I said honestly.

He nodded understandingly and he looked at little hurt. "You didn't tell me about your mom. I wish I'd known."

"Oh," I said.

We stood in awkward silence.

I watched as three red trucks passed. One man in a cowboy hat threw a still-smoking cigarette out his window. It landed in the Hoffman's wet front lawn and sizzled a little before going out. I cursed him in my head.

"Gail told my mom at the grocery store," Will explained, clearing his throat to grab my attention. I felt a little embarrassed for drifting off. "Nothing gets around that woman."

I smiled as I pictured his mother, Mrs. Hoffman. She was skinny as a rail with frizzy brown hair and she could for hours nonstop. She knew everything about everyone in Applewood because she made it her business to know.

"You know, I kinda remember Christine," Will continued. "I remember this one time, must have been about sixteen years ago, when she came over to borrow the lawn mower from my dad. Only it was too heavy, and she get couldn't get it across the street, so your dad had to come help her with it."

We both laughed.

"That was a really long time ago. It's crazy that I knew you way back then, isn't it?"

Will nodded, a slightly mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his nervous half-smile. "Hey, you know what always makes me feel better when my long lost mother shows up on my doorstep after 15 years?"

"What?"

He must have said something. I saw his mouth move out of the corner of my eye and then he looked at me as though waiting for me to laugh at the joke he'd just made. But I didn't. A cab had just pulled up in front of my house and through the tinted back seat windows a could make out a very familiar face….

_ROBI_

I told the cab driver to take me to Cyndi's house. I could have told him to take me to my own house, but I had my reasons. She was completely straightforward and she was honest with me. When I was being a jerk, she just told me. She didn't care that I was a prince. It didn't seem to matter to her that people had been sent to prison for swearing in front my ancestors. Cyndi let me know. Sometimes it was pretty aggravating, but I couldn't deny that I had missed it or that I needed something from her now.

Cyndi needed to tell me just one thing: that I would make the worst king ever. If she said it, I would know it was the truth and I could go on living with myself. If I was destined to be a failure then my brash actions would be justified. I wouldn't have just made the biggest mistake of my life by turning my back on my country, my family, and my future.

Was that too much to hope for?

When we pulled up, she was on the porch laughing with that guy who lived across the street. Phil or Gil or something. I couldn't remember his name. I could tell when she noticed me because her face took on this look of blank shock as she stared at me through the cab windows, completely oblivious to whatever what's-his-name was saying. Just seeing her face made feel m feel better. Her smile vanished all other thoughts from my mind. And I thought that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out okay. Thank God for Cynthia Ann!

_CYNDI_

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Robi," I said as I closed the door behind us. "I was surprised." I'd had to send Will home. He said he understood, but he looked kind of shook up about it. What Gail had said about him came to mind, but I quickly pushed that thought away. I didn't need to worry about anything anymore because Robi was back! My Christmas miracle was going to happen! Now that he was here, he could help me. He could fix everything. This whole issue with my mom would be solved because he would know what to do. Thank God for Robi!

"Gail!" I called in the general direction of the kitchen. "Guess who's here!"

"Somebody it takes an awfully long time to answer the door for?" she yelled back.

Robi and I smiled at each other. "No," I said. "Better. Come see."

She trudged down the hallway in her twenty-year-old apron with a ladle in one hand and a dish towel in the other. She came to complete stop when she saw who was here. "_Oh!_" she shrieked excitedly, running over to him and throwing her arms around him. He was over six feet tall and she was barely over five, so it might have looked a little a funny to an outsider. But anyone could tell by the way he hugged her back that the two loved each other just as much as any boy and the woman who has adopted his girlfriend.

"Oh! I'll hurry up and get dinner served," Gail fretted. "You've simply got to eat with us. No excuses." And she ran back down the hall before Robi could say a single word.

"I'll bet you missed _her_," I said, laughing as she disappeared down the hall.

"You bet."

I couldn't pretend I wasn't just excited as Gail was. I took his hand and started dragging him after her. "You better come in the kitchen, then. Me and Gail want to know everything, you know. We were both worried sick about you, especially when you didn't tell me anything. I'm so glad that it was all----" I stopped when I saw the look on his face. He was trying to guard his expression, but it was impossible to mistake the pain and shame on his face for anything else. "Oh," I said, finally understanding. I hated myself for jumping to conclusions. _What do I say now? _

He cleared his throat nervously. "Listen, Cyndi. Uh…Can we talk?"

I nodded. "Come on." I led him gently into the living room, where he sat on one couch and I on the other. We each sat on the very edge of the cushions with our backs stiff and straight, the way you sit when you're guest in the home of someone you hardly know. It was weird. He'd sat on that very same couch a million times and I… Well, I lived there.

Robi clasped and unclasped his hands a few times before he started talking. "I didn't come back because my dad had a quick recovery. He's just laying there, hasn't moved at all since it happened and nobody knows what to do about it. I guess I just couldn't handle it anymore. I freaked out and left because I didn't know what else to do. Who knows what would have happened if I'd stayed? Serbia would probably take over the country." He spoke with an uncharacteristic huskiness in his voice and finished in a nearly inaudible whisper. The he looked at me with eyes full of tears as though I held all the answers to his unasked questions.

I was dumbfounded, speechless. Never had it been so important that I say something encouraging and helpful, but I simply had nothing to offer. "I… I'm so sorry." It would have been better to say nothing at all. I had heard the phrase countless times when my own father passed away and was not comforted in the least. Apologizing wouldn't bring him back. Nothing would.

He nodded. Just like me, he would pretend to be comforted by that. He held his head in his hands and sighed with such sadness that I finally understood. It was imperative that I say something. Anything. He had flown here on a whim because he thought that he could count on me. There was no way I could make everything right again, but I owed it to him to try. An idea came to me, and knowing it was all I had, I went with it.

"You know you're wrong, though, right?" My voice came a little too loud, breaking the silence. But it was cheery enough, and that's what I going for.

It caught his attention. Robi looked up, anticipating something that may or not come.

"You didn't have to leave. You could have stayed. Robi, you'd make a great king. I know you would. Your dad knows you would. Your whole country knows it. They all believe in you. And besides, you might not even have to be. Not yet at least."

Robi shook his head. "Cyndi, I'm not…I… don't…"

I waited.

"I don't deserve it, I guess. I'm a disappointment. I can't make decisions, don't know what I want in life, and if people think they can _ever_ depend on me when something goes wrong, they're sadly mistaken. I'm pretty much a failure. And I don't have the strength to do this. I just don't."

Something really _had _happened in the past few days and I'd completely missed it. Either I'd been too stupid to look at his texts and read between the lines or I'd been too soaked up in my own problems to really pay that much attention. Probably a bit of both. But it was impossible to miss it any longer.

I still didn't know what to tell him. I didn't know how to make it better. One thing was clear to me, though: I loved him. As long as Robi needed me, I would be there. Simple as that. I got up and sat down on his couch, something I should have done form the beginning. I let him lean against me and cry his unshed tears. "You don't have to be strong right now," I whispered. "I'll be strong for you."

And for the first time, I thought that maybe I'd said something right.

_BREAK_

New York City was busy and noisy and crazy like always. People walked by me, all seeming to have a purpose, all seeming to be in a hurry. They all looked straight ahead with a far off look in their eyes as if they were staring at something in the distance that was too far away to see. No one moved out of anyone's way. I worried that someone, maybe me, would stop and be trampled to death under the feet of these purposeful, running-late New Yorkers.

Suddenly, someone ran into me. Hard. I fell to the ground and knew what my fate would be. Shoes were walking towards me, were going to crush me any second. Just before I was trampled, I looked up into the faces of these robotic New Yorkers. To my shock, all bore the face of my mother and all were headed straight towards me. There was nothing I could do to stop them. I tried to scream, but all that came out what a sound like a hailstone on the pavement. A loud, distinctive _plank! _

I opened my eyes. I was safe in my room and it was one-o'clock in the morning. Christmas morning. And there it was again. _Plank!_ I realized what it was this time. Not a muffled scream and not a hailstone hitting pavement but a pebble bouncing off my bedroom window. Believe it or not, I was accustomed to the sound. It seemed like a long time ago now, but Robi had done it the night of the ball, the time he said he loved me for the very first time. After that (and after I finally unstuck my window), he kept doing it. Even though he was more than welcome to just come to the front door in broad daylight—and even though that seemed much more convenient—it had remained romantic and daring in our minds. But it couldn't be him now. Why would he throw a rock at my window to get my attention when he was already in the house? Now that was just ridiculous.

Quickly, and glad that my boyfriend was just downstairs in my dad's den waiting to beat up creeps for me, I walked over to the window. It wasn't a creep or Robi. It was Will. _He sure did ring that dumb doorbell enough times_, I thought. _Thank God he figured _this _out._ I pushed up the glass and leaned out the window. "Yeah?" I half yelled, half whispered.

"Cyndi?"

"The one and only!"

He laughed. "Sorry if I scared you. I didn't want to wake anybody up! Can you come down here? I think I need to tell you something!"

"You _think_ you do?"

"Uh…yeah."

Was this proof that Will liked me, his coming to my window at night like romantic guys did in chick flicks? If so, what would Gail say? Robi? I didn't know. I knew going down wasn't the best idea. I would never lead anybody on. But what if I was wrong? Will Hoffman had always been a really sweet guy. It was one of the reasons I'd liked him so much when we were kids. I didn't want to misjudge some good-willed sweetness. At least that's what I told myself. Deep down I was just willing to do whatever I needed to make everyone like me and nobody hate me. I would rather have a million friends who meant nothing to me than one person who I meant nothing to.

_BREAK_

A/N:

I think Robi and Cyndi are meant for each other... sigh

Review, please:)


	6. Chapter 6: Will Spills

_A/N: I hope what Will says is still a _little_ bit of a surprise. I tried to put in a little bit of a twist. So even if it isn't, will you please tell me it was? _

_--- smiles sweetly --- _

_Thanks :)_

_Here's chapter six!_

Chapter Six: Will Spills

_ROBI_

I lay on the couch for hours that night, thinking things through. It was a new habit of mine. Before my father's stroke, I couldn't remember doing very much of it. Doing things on the spur of the moment without much consideration had defined who I was at one point. My parents had hated it, so I'd done it all the more. I liked being spontaneous long before I could pronounce the word. I used to think too little and now I thought too much. Why was there no middle ground?

I realized I wasn't going to fall asleep by the time the hall clock outside the door struck one thirty. I'd been trying to sleep since ten-thirty, but the fact that I was still awake didn't come as any surprise. Nobody could sleep under these circumstances. When would I know what had happened to my dad? What would I do when I found out? There was still hope he would survive, wasn't there? And then what? I didn't know if could go back even after he recovered. I couldn't face him or my mother or anyone now.

But if he didn't survive? Then I really couldn't go back. Where could I go? Not to the Jefferson Place. Not back to NYU. I couldn't stay in Cyndi's den forever either. She'd go back to France after News Years and it would be incredibly awkward with just Gail and me. Especially when she was employed by me and worked in a house I didn't live in cooking food for me that I wouldn't be eating. I hadn't put any thought into this past walking out the hospital door. Did that mean I was finally starting to think less? Was that a good thing or bad thing?

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud, familiar buzzing sound. A sound I'd ignored on the plane and in the cab. Now it came out of the darkness, cruel and commanding, from the pocket of my jeans that were draped over the chair in the corner. In Orminia, it was nine o'clock in Christmas morning. My mother was worried, my father may or may not be breathing, and I was no longer on the hospital premises. Once again, it occurred to me to just go ahead and answer my cell phone. My mother had cause enough to worry. I was only making matters worse. _Not that that wasn't exactly what you were trying to do…_ a voice in the back of my mind reminded me. I relented. I didn't have to tell her where I was. I didn't have to tell her anything. Flipping it open and saying, "Hello," would be enough to let her know I was alright and then I could just hang up.

I raced over and fished it out of my pocket. "Hello?" I said it in Orminian. It was strange that my first language no longer came naturally after spending so much time in this country. _That's great_, I thought. _Become king of a country whose language you hardly ever speak. That'll prove you're worthy of the crown._

"Robi? Robi, is that you?" Her voice came out almost like a squeak. She didn't sound like herself and that scared me.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound normal instead of like I wanted to jump out of my skin.

"Oh, thank God! Where are you? Are you okay? You didn't answer your phone before!"

Her tearful voice was making this hard to do. I needed to stick with one syllable words or I would never accomplish my goal of sounding distant and nonchalant. I never should have answered the damn phone. "No," I said.

She wasn't satisfied with that response. "No, you're not alright? You're in No? No, you didn't answer the phone? Help me here. What's going on?"

I sighed and sat down on the couch. "I'm…uh… I'm here," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay. I'll keep being okay… I think. "

"Is that the best I'm going to get out of you, Rbert Istvan?"

"Yeah," I said. "That's all I got."

"Robi." She sighed, suddenly sounding very tired. "Will you call me later today? It's Christmas, you know. Your father would want you here. You should be here."

_Dad's a vegetable_, I felt like telling her. _He doesn't want anything but to make my life miserable. _Instead I said, "Yeah. Okay." I didn't know what I was agreeing to. _Does it really matter?_

"I love you, honey. Merry Christmas. Good-bye."

"Merry Christmas. 'Night, Mom." I realized my error almost immediately. And I hated time differences all the more.

"'Good night'?" She nearly screamed it. "'Good night'? Robi, if you are in New—"

I hung up the phone. For all the thinking I did, I sure did a lot of stupid things. I began to wonder what the point of thinking was if you were just as confused and uncertain when you did it as you were when you didn't think at all.

_CYNDI_

A few minutes later, I met him on the front lawn. As I walked past the den, I almost thought I heard Robi talking to somebody. I decided that couldn't be, unless he was chatting it up with Santa Claus, and walked right by. Will looked nervous, which I thought was odd. People who act as much as he did just don't get nervous. He would have had to be confident and full of himself in order to make it in showbiz, or even in the fifth grade musical. New Yorkers raise their children to be very competitive. I was always part of the stage crew because my father was from Rhode Island… but that's another story entirely.

Like I said, he was nervous. Nervous in that way that makes a person start to sweat just thinking about what could be making the _other_ person so nervous. I guess it's that sense of insecurity you get when you see someone you thought was strong looking so vulnerable. I didn't want it. Once in a lifetime would have been fine with me. Just thinking about Robi's face as he walked inside earlier that afternoon made my heart constrict. There were certain people who were supposed to be perfect and wonderful all the time and my friends were those types of people. I thought about running back inside because I had the feeling that whatever was making Will feel the way he did had an awful lot to do with me.

"Hey," he started. "I know it's Christmas and all, but I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. I wanted to say good-bye. And… and other things." He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets and I realized that he wasn't making eye contact.

I nodded slowly. He was right. If we didn't get it out in the open, we could never be friends. He knew it and I knew it.

"Do you…uh…want to take a walk or something?"

Despite the fact that I was both cold and sleepy, I smiled. "Okay," I told him. "I'd like that."

We knew where we were going. It was a familiar route, one we'd walked and ridden millions of times. We'd spent whole summers biking and rollerblading around the block. Will and I would meet up with kids on the street behind ours and play catch, jacks, and hopscotch till the sun went down. It was strange how these memories came flooding back. I hadn't thought of these things for years, but I remembered it all so clearly of a sudden.

"When I said I didn't know why we stopped being friends," Will said as we turned the corner, "I was lying. If you didn't remember, I didn't see the point of bringing it up. But if I didn't tell you before I left, I'd hate myself for it. Who knows when we'll meet up again?"

I swallowed. This was it. There was sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I spoke up, trying to end it before it got too far. When the truth about what happened finally came out, would I be able to handle it? "You don't have to tell me," I said hurriedly. "Whatever I did, I feel just terrible about it now, Robi. I don't want—"

To my surprise, Will laughed. "What makes you think it was something _you_ did? You hardly had anything to do with it, Cyndi; that's why you don't remember." He sighed. "It was six years ago, back in sixth grade, when you started hanging out with Jada Campbell."

I gasped. "I remember her!" It had been years since she'd come to mind. After so many years, the preppy girls from junior high and high school all blended together. She was one of those snobby girls who had name brand clothing but no name brand friends—just a posse of girls who wanted to be noticed with someone who had brand name clothes. Yes, I was one of those girls. I hate to admit it. My friends Cate and Meghan were the ones who introduced me. By sixth grade I had convinced myself it was no longer cool to have a best friend who I was boy and I hung out with Will less and less.

_And yet,_ I thought_, that can't be what ended our friendship, can it? There must be more to it than that…._

There was. "Well, the two of you were friends with Meghan Morrison. And you _do_ remember _her_ don't you? You were hanging out with her at graduation in May."

I nodded, thinking of my cheerful, redheaded high school buddy. In fact, I had texted her the day before. "Yeah. I call her from Paris sometimes."

"I know I never told you this, but I started crushing on her in fifth grade. Major."

"Aw," I said, smiling. For a minute I forgot the feeling of foreboding that floated around us and recalled the match-making days of sophomore year. "I could've hooked you guys up! You'd have made such a cute couple!"

He cleared his throat, blushing enough that I could see his face turn pink with only the street lamps for light. "I don't know how you missed it, Cyndi. It seemed like everyone else knew except for you and Meghan. Even Jada knew, and that's what screwed things up."

I frowned. "How?"

"Because Jada had a crush on _me_."

"Everyone knew that. She didn't try to hide it or anything. But you hated her, so she hated you, and then in 8th grade she moved to Chicago and got over it. Right?"

He shrugged. "Not quite that smoothly. Sure she hated me, but that didn't mean anyone else could go out with me."

"Not that you would have ever made your move on Meghan anyway," I put in. "It's been what, eight years, and she _still _doesn't know about it?"

"That's not _my_ fault. It's Jada's. She wrote that letter to you at camp that said I was a loser, that I did drugs now, that I was weird, and that I stole things from the convenient store on 18th Street with my friends. Remember?"

"Crap," I said. "So that's why, isn't it? That's why we stopped being friends." _It _was _my fault._ As it dawned on me, the memories coming back from what seemed a million years ago, I wished for the first time that I couldn't remember. "Jada wrote a bunch a rumors in a letter and showed it to Meghan before she sealed the envelope. Then, when I got it, it wasn't supposed to make a difference because I knew you too well to believe any of it. It was supposed to throw off Meghan, not me. But it ruined _our _friendship and it was Meghan who didn't believe any of it." When he didn't respond, I knew I'd hit gold. "How can you say it wasn't my fault? I ruined everything."

Will sighed. "Cyndi, our friendship was headed for disaster anyway. We hardly even saw each other anymore. I guess I just wished we'd be the type who slowly drifted apart from each and made new friends in different places, not the type who ended it abruptly over a letter I didn't know was written until tenth grade."

I nodded slowly, realizing how true it all was. "I'm sorry, Will. I should have trusted you over Jada. She was a bitch and so was I. You and Meghan never stood a chance."

"I'm sorry I had to bring this up. You were so excited about us being friends again and I didn't want to ruin any of that. I—"

I broke in for once. "Will, if you don't want to be friends I understand. I know I never apologized for it before now. I didn't even realize I did anything wrong. But I truly am sorry. I was completely thoughtless and inconsiderate."

"You were eleven. It's fine. Really."

The old, more confidant, stage-performing Will was beginning to show through, but I still wasn't ready to let it go. "It's not, though. What about Meghan?"

"It was years ago, Cyndi. Me and Carly are doing alright. I mean, this whole long distance thing isn't easy. I'm in Denver and she's in Rhode Island. Sometimes I find myself wondering what would have happened if I'd spoken up, if I'd explained it or told Meghan how I felt. It's not like I haven't had an opportunity. I've had eight years to do it. I just… I just know she hates me."

I shook my head. "Nobody could hate you, Will. Nobody." I put my hand on his shoulder. "Listen, if I give you her cell phone number, will you call her for me? You don't have to mention any of this stuff. You could just ask her to have coffee and casually bring up the fact that you don't do drugs or steal from the department store. There's always a happy ending at Starbucks."

He smiled. "I guess it's about time, isn't it?"

I nodded. "About."

Will nodded. "Okay. But only if you do something for me. Nobody gets off easy this Christmas."

_BREAK_

A/N:

Guess what! Only one more chapter left!

If you like spiritual fics, consider this a warning... chapter seven is my very first attempt. Please be nice when you review it.

Review:)


	7. Chapter 7: No One Gets Off

_A/N: If you stuck with me from the beginning, thanks!_

_Here's the last chapter, in which things get resolved pretty quickly but that's okay: _

Chapter Seven: Nobody Gets off Easy this Christmas

_ROBI_

Breakfast was awkward the next morning. It was Christmas Day and I had a steaming plateful of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me, but there was something so wrong about it all. The fire crackled in the hearth. It was warm, cheerful inviting. But I still felt cold and miserable. _Maybe_ _I'm getting sick_, I thought. _Or maybe it's jet lag. _

I looked across the table at Cyndi. She hadn't said a word yet, she was so enveloped in her thoughts. She looked like she'd been up for about a million hours. The whole mom thing was really taking a toll on her. I wanted to help, to make everything better like I'd done for her in the past, but I didn't know the half of it this time. I had my own problems to worry about and they were making me as helpful to Cyndi as a shoe full of rocks.

"So," she said, her voice sounding like it came from miles away, "what are going to do today? I've got…" She cleared her throat. "Something to take care of. It could take a while."

She was hinting on something. She wanted me to say something. Either she wanted me to encourage her to do it or talk her out of it, but to be honest I didn't even know what "it" was. I used to be able to pick up on all sorts of signals she sent out. We had a special connection like that. We clicked. But I didn't even try. I wasn't a tryer anymore; I was a loser. Since I'd left Orminia, my life no longer had a meaning. With no purpose, I was more like a floating head or a ghost, whatever became of you when you didn't have much to live for anymore. I still didn't have any plans for the future. I'd run away from the only thing I'd ever been trained to do and now my life was just hanging there. I could no more decipher what it was Cyndi was trying to tell me than I could turn around, head back home, and be crowned king of a country I didn't know how to rule. "Uh-huh," I said, knowing I hadn't answered her question in the least. I didn't know what I was doing today. The next hour was just as vague as the next year. What did it matter when your life was purposeless?

She sighed, looking like the poster child for weariness. "Okay." She scooted back in her chair , pushed her plate of untouched pancakes away from her, and stood. "Bye, Robi. I love you." She picked her purse up off the counter and was gone. _She_ had a purpose. How did someone like her love a loser like me? I picked up my magazine about cars or shoes or maybe houses and went to the den to wallow in self pity and think myself into an oblivion. Maybe I would _finally_ have a revelation.

_CYNDI_

I tried to look confident as I left, but I was shaking on the inside. That was one of the worst breakfasts I'd ever had, and I've had a lot of breakfasts. Robi had always been a morning person. He was enthusiastic all day long but especially when he first got up. When most people were rubbing the sleep from their eyes he was strumming songs on his guitar while shoving his face with seven waffles. He made everyone around him laugh until they were just as awake as he was. He loved life and he loved me and his life and love were contagious.

Today he might have been in Guam. I couldn't get him to talk to me about anything. He didn't want to open up at all. Since the episode on the couch the day before, he'd been a closed book. He'd wiped the tears from his eyes, eaten lots of cheesy stuff, and taken a fourteen hour nap. How long was he going to pretend he wasn't disappearing right before my eyes? He was thinking about stuff all day long. People who left home at six in the morning and flew for twelve hours were thinking about stuff. I just wished he tell would me what.

People were supposed to ache to be at home at Christmas, but today I ached to be away, ached to get something done that had been put off for far too long. It wasn't until I was halfway out of town that I realized I hadn't even told Gail I was leaving. I was still afraid of her reaction, I guess. She hadn't said anything that would hint on the fact that she didn't want me to talk to my mom. In fact, she seemed to support it. I knew it was selfish of me, but I wanted Gail to be angry. I wanted her to be upset that my mother was here, trying to bring an end to what we had. Was it too much to ask for just a little jealousy? I wanted her to hate Christine and everything that my maternal mother stood for, but she didn't say a word. Nothing at all. She hadn't brought it up in twenty-four hours.

That was okay, though. If I'd learned anything this Christmas it was that everyone froze when something crazy happened. Nobody had full control of what they did anymore and they sometimes reacted in a way that was completely opposite from the way they felt on the inside. So you couldn't really rely on people. Not fully, at least. The only person you could really count on was yourself. Today, for the first time in a very long time, I was going to give that a whirl.

It was a good thing The Hotel Grand was just inside the City because, odds are, I wouldn't have found it otherwise. I lived twenty miles outside and I'd been there countless times with my dad's catering business, school fieldtrips, my friends' shopping spree birthday parties, and visits to NYU to see Robi at lunch. But did anybody really know their way around New York City? I prepared myself for getting lost before I left that morning. The hotel was right there, though, like an omen or a sign or something. It's placement had had nothing to do with restaurant locations or how close it was to Grand Central Station or 5th Avenue. It had everything to do with me being able to find it today. But as I parked the car in a nearby parking garage, my stomach started to do cartwheels. I ached to be at home again. Even breakfast couldn't be _this_ scary.

_ROBI_

I used to always go to church. There was a five-hundred-year-old cathedral built adjacent to the castle in Orminia where the royal family had a specially reserved pew. At least 2,000 people came every Sunday and stared at us rather than at the pulpit. Bishop Nagy preached to us specifically. It was extremely uncomfortable, even after sixteen years, and I came up with any excuse I could to miss. It wasn't easy. My parents were strict about it. Their perfect son would have understood perfectly that it was all about tradition. It had little to do with Jesus or faith or prayer or the sermons. As with everything my parents did, it all went back to duties and customs. I was expected to be a part of that so, naturally, I tried my hardest not to be. I hadn't gone to church since I'd come to New York three years ago.

Nobody who knew me would have said I was religious. I went to church only when my parents insisted my excuses to get out of it weren't good enough. I never prayed except when I was feeling sorry for myself; I didn't spread the good news; I didn't read the Bible. It seemed normal at the time, sort of rebellious and cool.

What good came out of it, though?

There were times when I had felt that no one was really on my side. Nobody knew where I was coming from or where I was headed. Everyone in Orminia _thought_ they knew me. I was on the news every night and on the covers of magazines and on the front page of the news papers. People on the other side of the country knew how I liked my eggs and what my favorite color was, but they didn't know any of the stuff that mattered. I had Cyndi to confide in. She knew me better than anybody ever had. She was perfect. And yet, since she'd gone to culinary school, I'd felt more and more alone. I was less sure of myself. I was scared.

But all of that was so pointless because I _did_ have someone to confide in when Cyndi was in Europe. I _did_ have someone who knew the real me. There _was_ someone who knew where I came from and where I was headed. There _was_ someone who knew all my insecurities, failures, and fears. Somebody existed who had hope in me. Somebody saw _me_ as the perfect son. So what the hell was my problem? Why did I have so little faith in myself if there was somebody on my side who had so _much_ faith in me? Why was I running to New York like a jerk when I had somebody to turn to right in that hospital room? Why had I been waiting for a spirit to show up at St. Agatha's when there was already one there willing to help me out? People can depend on God in any crisis to make things right. He'll be there to make you strong. _Keessuu__ ne __mon__pe__tru__ de _because Jesus is in our hearts. I wasn't cool or rebellious, I was loser.

Quickly, I looked at my watch. There was still time to make things right. I still had time to get to Orminia. Mom had been right. My father had wanted me there. My father deserved to see me there. Both my earthly one and my heavenly one. I owed it to them. Reaching for a piece of paper on the desk in Mr. Moretti's den, I scribbled a note to Cyndi: _Christ calls. Merry Christmas. See you soon! _

I still didn't know what would happen when I got there. That much hadn't changed. Would I become the king of Orminia? Was I already for that? Or would Dad get better? Either way, I _did_ have a purpose now. That much had changed. And so had I.

_CYNDI_

I made it into the lobby. I made it to the elevator. I made it up to the fourth floor. I made it to room 418. I did it all without much thinking. If I'd done much thinking, I'd have turned around long ago. But here I stood, at the door of Christine Stevens' hotel room, and I started to think.

_What are you going to tell her? What are you going to say? What is _she_ going to say? Will she stay? Will she leave? Will she become a part of your life now? Will she walk away forever? Will things go back to the way they always were? Is that even possible now? Is it worth it to even go in and face her? Can you in any way describe how you feel? Maybe you should just __leave. _I sighed and turned around. It wasn't worth it. I couldn't count on even myself in a crisis. Who was left, then? Anybody? I started back down the hall.

"Cyndi?"

I turned around and came face to face with my mother.

"Oh," she said. "I thought you were Chinese."

I smiled. "Nope. It's me."

I could tell she didn't know what to do. She was just as confused and unsure as I was. Christine waved a hand to indicate the door. "Did you want to come in?"

I nodded. "Okay."

It looked just like any other three star hotel room. Despite the name, there wasn't anything grand about it. There were two double beds splayed with brown-and-green patterned comforters. A table and chair stood in one corner, a lamp in another; at the head of the room, a cupboard opened to show a 24" TV that was turned off; and a door that opened just a crack near the room's front door indicated a small bathroom. I sat on the bed nearest the window, which showed, instead of beautiful New York sky scrapers, the cement roof of an office building.

I sat in the chair and she at the foot of the bed closest to the window. She wasn't going to start. I figured whatever social skills she'd once had had been lost after fifteen years in the jungles of Africa, so I would have to do her a favor. Looking at my clasping and unclasping hands in my lap, I said, "Yesterday, when we went out to eat, I had so much to say to you, I didn't know where to begin. But instead of saying too much, which I was what I was so afraid of, I ended up saying nothing at all, which was worse." I glanced up at her for a brief moment.

She sat there, all ears and eyes and patience. All of her nervousness was gone and, for once, I saw a trace of mother in her. I saw the woman who cleaned up kool-aid off the kitchen floor, who held me while I cried, who kissed my scrapes, who picked all the egg shells out of the chocolate chip cookie dough batter, and who splashed in the baby section of the public pool. She would listen intently to whatever I had to say and she wouldn't judge me. I wondered if she ever regretted leaving us, if somewhere in her was a loving mother who'd just given up one day but would go back and do it all over again if she had the chance. Was it up to me to give her that chance? And then, thinking again, I lost track of everything I was going to say, and started to cry. Silently at first, and then sobs, horrible, loud, retching sobs, and I couldn't have told you what all they were for for the life of me.

Before I knew it her arms were around me. They were arms I'd once known, arms that had rocked me to sleep, and having them around me made me cry all the more. _It's was too late for this. She should have done this fifteen years ago. She should have been here all along, not just right now. I should throw her off of me._ And yet… and yet I'd been longing for this very thing for years without even realizing it.

When I quieted, she sat with me, stroking my hair and rocking me back and fourth, the two of us sitting on a chair that fit only one on a good day. And for an instant all those years went away.

Just for an instant.

It was a great minute-and-a-half or so, but then it was over. And I was the eighteen-year-old me again, the me with no past mother, future mother, or present mother. The me who'd given up on those dreams, gotten over herself, and accepted the fact that her childhood had made her who she was. The me with a better family than any family somebody had been blessed with at birth. Looking at my mother, this stranger who loved me and who I would always yearn for in a what-if sort of way, I had to ask myself, _Is that the Cyndi you _want _to be? _But I knew the answer almost before I asked it. _It's the Cyndi who you _have_ to be. _

_ROBI_

It was dark when I entered the hospital, making it seem almost as though I'd never even left. It was still quiet and peaceful, but not so spooky or desperate now, with God there. I kept on my NYU hoodie, Mets hat, and sunglasses as I walked down the halls, so as not to draw too much attention to myself. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. I didn't know what I would find. Would the bed be empty? Have a new middle-aged man sleeping on it? Gosh, how I wished my phone hadn't died on the plane. I looked at my watch. _11:58pm_. Was that too late to hope for a Christmas miracle? I crossed my fingers and stepped inside room 413.

I wasn't prepared for what I found, maybe because I was hoping for the worst. The lights were all on, the blinds were open, and I could hear Christmas carols, ever so faintly, coming through the walls from the room next door. In a second, my mother's arms were around me, squeezing me so tight I could hardly breathe. And from the corner of my eye, I saw my father, sitting up against the pillows with as big a smile on his face as I had ever seen. "He's gonna make it," she whispered in my ear. "Thank you for coming home."

I believed in miracles after that. With a little faith, things really do work out. Even for losers like me.

_CYNDI_

I turned my key in the lock. I didn't feel bad about leaving the hotel room that morning. Even though we still hadn't said a word of how we felt, we'd solved things. I had, at least. Maybe all I needed was to go back in time for a minute or two. Maybe all I needed was to have my real mother's arms around me. Or maybe I just needed to cry and get rid of the emotions bottled up inside me.

What I like to think happened, though, was that I paused. I stopped trying to figure out everything for a change and let something else take over. God, maybe, I don't know. For a while, though, I felt at peace, like I didn't have to worry anymore or think very hard. Like things would all be taken care of. And that was how I'd known what to say to her. The words had just come to me. After that, I'd been able to get into my car, drive away, and head back home with a sense that everything would work out. So far, things have.

So did Christmas miracles take place that year? As I feasted on a Christmas dinner set for seventeen— fifteen of which were elsewhere that day— I got to thinking about that. In just a few days, things had been flipped upside-down, turned inside-out, and then been put right-side-out and right-side-up again. Robi didn't have to become king, but he'd learned that he was capable of doing it. His father was already improving a lot and everyone had a lot of faith in his complete recovery, especially his perfect son. Mom and I were okay, to say the least. Though we'd go on to live our separate lives again, we'd always remember the time we'd spent in each other's arms. Will and I were fine now. Thankfully, he's a very forgiving person. He's also very desirable to a certain someone named Meghan, who he's spent an awful lot of time with at Starbucks. Best of all, my famous mashed potatoes turned out to be the work of a miracle. That in itself was worth going home for. I knew I'd miss the suburbs once I went back to Paris.

_BREAK_

_THE END!_

_... at least for now ..._

A/N:

I hope you liked it. Review!

Love,

roxmysox55 (a.k.a. sarah)


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